


Take My Heartbeat Away

by orphan_account



Series: partial differential equations [2]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Barebacking, Begging, Blow Jobs, Body Image, Body Worship, Hand Jobs, M/M, Masturbation, Mirror Sex, No Lube, Overstimulation, Rimming, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-18 01:48:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4687814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jihoon wants to bang his poetry professor, not her assistant, but Soonyoung keeps getting in the way of Jihoon’s otherwise perfect plan.</p><p>(Or, the university AU featuring chronic boners, pretentious lines, and two boys who don’t know what they want.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. honeymoon

**Author's Note:**

>   * I have a [Tumblr](http://coupsd.tumblr.com/) now!!! I post fics on there that I won't be cross-posting here for aesthetic reasons and I like to run my mouth on there often, so if you do decide to follow me, don't forget to say hi! I don't bite haha.
>   * Title's taken from this beautiful song '[Orphan](https://soundcloud.com/weareempires/orphan-1/s-5TpvN)' from one of my favourite bands, Empires. The song Soonyoung plays later in the chapter is this one as well. I have no particular reason for this song; I really just thought it sounded great so I wanted to share it with you guys.
>   * This is based off a Filipino film called _Ang Sayaw ng Dalawang Kaliwang Paa_ (English: _The Dance of Two Left Feet_ ) and it's an indie film made by my Filipino professor, who is amazing in so many ways I just—ugh.
>   * The poem in the beginning is an awkward, very literal translation of Danton Remoto's [_Pulotgata_](http://malikhaingmanunulat.blogspot.com/2012/02/pulot-gata.html). If any of you are Filipino, you should give the poem a read. It's fantastic.
>   * I DON'T KNOW HOW I FEEL ABOUT THIS. I honestly had such a bitch time writing it as well, but I really wanted to write something Soonhoon, and this just happened to it. OTL
>   * I feel like this is overly ambitious of me and that's why I'm having a hard time ㅠㅠㅠ I don't know how to write dance, so I'm very, very sorry.
> 


_The rain is tonguing at_  
_the trees outside._  
_The wind is whispering_  
_in the ears of the leaves_  
   
_while you_  
_are seated on top of me._  
_The lashes of your eyes are_  
_closing, opening._  
   
_There is a sheen of sweat_  
_at the sides of your lips._  
_Your face is_  
_bright, a lamp._  
   
_And your fingers are_  
_travelling, entering,_  
_getting lost in_  
_the rain of my hair._  
—Danton Remoto, _Honeymoon_ , 2010

 

***

 

It’s nine in the morning on the first day of the new term and Jihoon already has a boner. It has everything to do with his professor’s crisp, apple-like voice and the imagery of the poem and _tonguing_ —Miss Ellman is mousy and dressed like a dowdy virgin (down to her fucking socks, which were pink, frilly things stuffed into hideous brown slip-ons) and her ankles are skinny and deathly white but she sits on top of her desk in the lecture room like she absolutely means to do it. Jihoon doesn’t want to admit he finds it hot, that her sitting on her desk is enough to set what weird, unnamed control kink he has on fire. He covers his lap with the university hoodie he was wearing before he entered the lecture room, leans back in his seat, and tries to think about dead cats.

“Could any of you tell me the genders of the people involved in the poem?” she calls out, uncrossing and recrossing her ankles. (Jihoon might die if he so much as catches a glimpse of her underwear, and it better not be fucking ugly beyond belief.)

There is a lull in the class. Her eyes flicker from one end of the room to the next, bottom lip caught between her teeth. She leans back on her outstretched arms, her large, loose maroon cardigan threatening to slip off her shoulder.

“No takers? Fine,” she says lightly. “It would be rude of you to assume or presuppose that it can only be a heterosexual relationship, anyway. After all, there is nothing there that can clearly define their genders. Everyone has eyes and fingers and”—Jihoon thinks the mention of this word in this context is a defining moment for his sexuality—“tongues.” If he could suck in a breath without it being audible in the large room, he would have, but he bites on his bottom lip and chews on it, feeling it become tender and tingly as he worries at the skin.

“The imagery itself is quite erotic,” Miss Ellman continues, “if you take a look at what’s happening outside.” She refers back to the paper she read aloud from earlier then pushes her glasses back up her nose. “The rain is licking the trees, the wind is whispering… Imagine what would it be like instead if the rain is strong, lashing, if the wind is howling—it would isolate the couple, which can be hot, too, in its own way, but it’s not the kind of fucking we’re interested in today.”

A few weak laughs rise from the class, probably from the freshmen reeling from their first taste of an actual college class. Jihoon lets himself smile.

“The author intended slow, gentle lovemaking, and there’s something ultimately beautiful about nature conspiring to set the mood for you, especially in this context,” Miss Ellman says, eyes scanning the room again. She laughs. “I thought having erotic poetry for the first day would get you excited for this class.” Jihoon takes this time to look at her knees and imagine how his hands would look like on them or running through her plump calves, her body lit by the fireplace while it’s pouring outside. He’s lusting after his introduction to poetry professor and he can’t think of any worse way to start his last year of college.

To his dismay, she gets off the desk then walks to the board behind her where she writes a list of literary devices and terms. “But don’t think that’s all we’ll be discussing this semester. There are things you can poeticise about that aren’t just sex.”

Jihoon doesn’t know the last time he’s listened with rapt attention in a GE class, but he knows today is the first time he’s done it in a long time. He doesn’t take notes, but rather watches as Miss Ellman walks around the room and insinuates herself on every surface—fingers walking on a student’s desk, hand placing itself on the back of a student’s chair, rapping her knuckles on the door at the back—that by the end of the class, he’s dizzy but no less turned on.

His next class is semantics and pragmatics, of which the name is enough to make his boner die down (and if not, the work they began with straight away would have taken care of it), and with that, he proceeds with the regular rhythm of the school year. Miss Ellman doesn’t reenter his thoughts until he’s done with the last class of the day and he passes by the PE area on the way to the Starbucks across campus for his shift.

As it turns out, Miss Ellman, on top of teaching literature and drama for the English department, teaches interpretive dance as a PE. He catches her just as she’s bending her body backwards, her torso arching towards the light, to music he can’t hear. She’s not so mousy anymore like this—without her glasses and her hair slicked back into a tight bun, wearing a leotard that clings to her body and defines it. He almost didn’t recognise her, if it weren’t for the way she pressed her lips tightly together, which she did so often in class that morning while she waited for any one of them to recite or ask questions.

One of her (presumably) students stands up, runs a hand from her shoulder down to her arm, and guides her, hands laced. Together they move, his other hand flat on Miss Ellman’s stomach, which she covers with her own.

There is a position they hold for a bit where the student has his mouth ghosting over her shoulder while she leans her head back into the crook of his neck and reaches up for his hair. It’s one of the prettiest things Jihoon’s seen in a while, or ever, even, and it makes his stomach burn as he looks at it.

He’ll be late for his shift, but he knows the kid, Seungkwan, would cover for him, so he lingers by the dance area until the class is over.

Miss Ellman is one of the first to leave the room, downing a bottle of water as she walks out, her neck shiny with sweat. Her and Jihoon’s eyes meet for a brief second and she manages a small wave. Jihoon lets out a breath he doesn’t realise he’d been holding.

The next person to leave is the student she danced with, towel around his neck, bottle of water pressed against his cheek. His entire body is covered with sweat, and Jihoon doesn’t have to touch his shirt to know it’ll be damp; the room must have been stuffy inside.

“You here for Miss Ellman?” the guy asks as he wipes his face with his towel. “She just left, sorry.”

“I saw,” Jihoon replies. “I already talked to her anyway.”

He nods. “Ah. I thought for sure you have a crush on her,” he remarks, making Jihoon cough into his fist. “Was I right? We get a lot of people like you coming around just to watch her dance. It’s kinda cute.” Jihoon snorts at that. “By the way, I think we got the same morning poetry class together.”

“I don’t remember you.”

The guy laughs, then says, “Whatever; it’s a big room. I’m Soonyoung Kwon,” as he extends his hand towards Jihoon.

At least the name rings a bell. “Jihoon Lee,” Jihoon says, taking Soonyoung’s hand and shaking it. “I remember your name from the roster.”

“‘Cause it’s Korean?”

“It feels like a mating call, sometimes,” Jihoon admits. “Back in freshman year, especially.” And his ears perked up every time he heard something even remotely close to home. (Now it seems like every possible Korean on campus congregates at the Starbucks where he works, and he doesn’t think much about displacement anymore, hasn’t called home since he arrived and doesn’t plan to call any time soon.)

“Yeah, I get you. By the way, I know you had a boner this morning.”

“Fuck.” Jihoon lets out a weak laugh. “You saw that?”

“Yeah,” Soonyoung says, grinning. “I’m not saying you should take the dance class or whatever, but your situation’s dire.”

“I—Was it really that bad?” Soonyoung nods. Well. He has a point; Jihoon did think earlier that he wanted to place his hand on her stomach, too—he imagines it would be lean, with key spots he could pinch.

“Isn’t she a little too old for you though?”

That makes Jihoon stop. “Why, how old is she?”

Soonyoung hums. “I think she’s turning forty-one this year? I know she had a fortieth birthday celebration before but I can’t remember when…” Jihoon lets out a low whistle; he’s placed her at mid-thirties, at most, maybe even a little younger because her glasses are thick-rimmed and her face is smooth. “Doesn’t look it, right?”

“No fucking way,” Jihoon says, shaking his head.

“Still interested?”

The way Jihoon sees it, it’s like having a crush on Nigella Lawson—when he first heard her speak, at the dorm of his first friend in college who had too much enthusiasm for cooking shows, he didn’t want to stop hearing it, and he feels that way about Miss Ellman. “I guess so,” he tells Soonyoung. “What if I take this class and you help me out so I don’t look like shit?”

“Like, teach you how to dance?” Jihoon nods, his request making Soonyoung laugh. “I’m going to tell you right now that there is no way she’s going to notice your shitty dancing, even if you do get better at it. Are you sure you want this to be your ultimate seduction plan?”

“It’s not a seduction plan,” Jihoon shoots down. “It’s more of me just wanting to be closer to her… Fuck, I sound stupid.”

“You are.”

“Thanks.”

“I’ll help you out,” Soonyoung offers. Jihoon looks at him in surprise. Soonyoung just shrugs. “I’ve got a light schedule this semester anyway. We just gotta pay the athletics department so we can use the dance studio, so I’m expecting you to shoulder all of that.”

“Fuck,” Jihoon curses. “Okay, I have a job, so… I guess I can handle it.”

“Try not to cry when she makes fun of you, okay,” Soonyoung teases. “I’m her assistant and sometimes she’s more work than my actual classes. Not just all the rehearsals till midnight, but, like, she can be a real fucking bitch.”

Maybe this is what Soonyoung means about Jihoon being stupid—that she’s a bitch turns him on.

Soonyoung sighs, “She dances so well, though, that it’s hard to quit this job. I don’t even get paid much but I think I’d miss something more if I stop, you know?”

“She’s that good?”

“Fucking amazing.”

“And you’ve never been attracted to her…?”

Soonyoung laughs again and says, “Not all of us like girls.” _Oh_. He brings out his phone and taps the side of it against Jihoon’s hand. “If you’re serious, about it, just text me. I’ll might have to bail once or twice ‘cause… thesis.”

“Got mine too,” Jihoon replies. At least the first meeting with his adviser went well—he wants to talk about how tense relays a context of space in the Korean language, and that’s really the only solid plan he has, so when his adviser gave him the go signal, he let out a huge sigh. “What’re you working on?”

“Me?” Soonyoung hesitates, plays with his mouth, and his mouth is nearly impossible for Jihoon to not notice—full and coloured a pretty shade of cotton candy pink—that Jihoon wants to know what they look like saying certain words (and he wonders how Soonyoung sounds when he speaks Korean). “Uh, I’m working on a small-scale business that’ll just operate inside campus. Like, a stall thing,” he explains, then scratches his head. “I don’t know what I’d sell or offer, though.”

“You’ll come up with something, don’t worry,” Jihoon says, patting him on the shoulder, even though he has to extend his arm more than necessary to reach it. (Why is he so fucking _short_?) “I mean, nothing gets shit done more than desperation.”

Soonyoung grins at him. “That’s what I’m counting on.”

“Good luck,” Jihoon tells him, and he’s sincere about it. “Stop by Starbucks sometimes; I’ll give you my employee discount.”

“Yeah?” Soonyoung smiles at him. “I’ll count on that, too.”

 

***

 

It’s a Thursday when Jihoon texts Soonyoung about his schedule over his ten-minute break at Starbucks. Soonyoung sends him a photo of his schedule, which he drew on a blank piece of paper—as it turns out, Soonyoung is a neat freak; his lines are meticulously measured out so each rectangle is exactly the same dimension as the others and his breaks and classes are colour-coded for easier reference—while Jihoon just takes a screencap of a Notes file listing down the times he has free and sends that to Soonyoung with an apology that he can’t be fucked to organise his schedule the same way.

_We both got free Fridays_ , Soonyoung texts him. Jihoon’s shift at Starbucks that day is the all-nighter one that starts at ten pm and his only class lets out at noon, so they decide on six to nine pm every Friday until either one of them want to stop or get too busy to give a shit.

_Isn’t three hours a little too much?_ Jihoon asks. Soonyoung says no, that they could have dinner before or after if Jihoon doesn’t want to train the whole three hours, and that in itself is a little odd, like this arrangement is a little more casual than Jihoon could’ve imagined.

As if Soonyoung can read his mind, he texts again, _Am I being too much? I don’t want to make things awkward, that’s all._

_No_ , Jihoon replies, _I like dinner_. His break is over; Seungkwan has to physically drag him out of his chair in the employees’ room to the front where he spends the next three hours making iced Americanos for people who think they’re still on summer vacation and perpetuate it by staying at the outdoor smoking area despite it being at least cold enough to merit a sweater. As he waits for one of his orders to blend, he notices Seungkwan by the register chewing on his bottom lip, grazing over it until it was swollen and bright pink.

“You’re bitchier than usual,” Jihoon tells him as he passes behind him, tapping Seungkwan’s shoulder.

Seungkwan turns his head and scowls. “You’re one to talk,” he counters as Jihoon’s getting one of the croissants from the display to reheat. Jihoon swears he hears Seungkwan mutter, “He’s not coming here today,” and he doesn’t want to say or ask anything about it (because Seungkwan gains some sort of self-satisfaction when he could be as bitchy as he wants), but he does take it upon him to work on the drinks double time so it’s something less Seungkwan has to do this shift.

Soonyoung takes care of all the paperwork for them. All Jihoon has to do is show up at the dance studio the next day, gym bag with an extra change of clothes slung over his shoulder. He’s a little early; it’s barely five-thirty pm when he gets there, so he loiters around for a bit, waiting for Soonyoung before changing into workout clothes.

He feels Soonyoung arrive before he sees him—the bitch taps him on the shoulder, making Jihoon look up from his phone at his grinning face.

“This is going to be fun,” Soonyoung tells him, eyes crinkling at the corners.

Last time someone’s said that to Jihoon was three years ago during freshman orientation, which served its purpose as a gentle descent into the academic hell that revealed itself weeks after. He returns Soonyoung’s smile and suggests they change, because Soonyoung is in business clothes and Jihoon in an expensive shirt one of his aunts gifted him for Christmas.

Soonyoung agrees, picking at the fabric of his button-down with disdain. “I had a presentation for a class,” he explains. “No wonder all these freshmen keep asking if we have a dress code…”

Jihoon just pats him on the back as they walk to the locker rooms, tells him, “At least you look good in a monkey suit,” which makes Soonyoung laugh.

“I think anyone would look good wearing a suit,” Soonyoung says, and he really does seem to be thinking about it, thumb hooked under his chin. “I don’t know… It’s like—It’s like you’re implying something when you wear a suit, like you have money or power.”

“I guess that’s what makes suits sexy,” Jihoon says, not wanting to admit to his power kink and how seeing Soonyoung in it—even with his gym bag on one shoulder and the mess of straw pretending to be his hair—is approaching Miss Ellman, ‘I’m getting a boner in class, holy fuck’ levels of disruptive and distracting. Soonyoung just hums in agreement.

They enter the locker room. Jihoon quickly heads for one of the changing rooms, and when he comes out, Soonyoung is fully dressed in dance attire too, a sweatband under his hair.

The dance studio is brightly lit and covered with mirrors on all four sides, save for where they entered. Soonyoung gets one of the remote controls placed on the holsters attached to the wall and turns on the airconditioning, explaining to Jihoon that he sweats really badly without it. Jihoon just nods dumbly and lets himself be lead so that they’re both facing one mirror, standing maybe a feet or two away from it.

Soonyoung steps behind him; Jihoon tries to find anything else in the room to latch his gaze on to, his stomach settling low in his gut and flipping. “I just wanna see you stand up straight,” Soonyoung says as he places his hands on either of Jihoon’s shoulders, where they were likely to burn holes through Jihoon’s shirt from how warm they are. Jihoon fidgets in his place, going rigid as soon as Soonyoung kneads at his shoulders, thumbs pressing into the junction between Jihoon’s shoulder blades and his neck.

“Relax,” Soonyoung tells him, leaning towards Jihoon then placing his chin on Jihoon’s shoulder, right on top of his fingers, which were white against the black of Jihoon’s shirt. They eyes meet in the mirror.

“I am,” Jihoon replies.

“No, you’re not,” Soonyoung chides. “You’re so tense; you’re never gonna dance well like this.”

“I just—Do we have to do it in front of so many mirrors?”

“You can’t improve if you don’t look at how you’re doing.”

“Fine.” Jihoon lets his shoulders drop so Soonyoung can stop touching him, but Soonyoung reaches forward for Jihoon’s arms, until his chest is pressed flush against Jihoon’s back. They look so intimate in the mirror—Soonyoung’s fingers wrapped around Jihoon’s wrists, coaxing them out of where they were linked on Jihoon’s stomach.

Soonyoung returns his head to where it rested on Jihoon’s shoulder then raises one of Jihoon’s hands, the rest of his arm following like a limp noodle. “Look at that,” he says, still not taking his eyes of Jihoon’s in the mirror. “You give too easily now.”

“But it feels better now,” Jihoon protests weakly, “and it doesn’t look bad.”

“It’s not just about being fluidity and looking smooth,” Soonyoung tells him. “You have to be steady, too. If you’re not steady, you’ll fall. And you’ll look like shit, on top of that.” Jihoon swallows. Soonyoung finally lets go—the cool air that hits Jihoon is too much after the warmth of Soonyoung’s body pressed against him that he shivers slightly—then stands next to Jihoon, placing his hands on top of his thighs and keeping his feet shoulder-width apart. “This is a basic stance.”

Jihoon follows and forces himself to look at his reflection. He looks tired and tiny, and there’s a slight tinge of grey in his skin. Soonyoung is all-white beside him and _towering_. All Soonyoung does after Jihoon gets into position is lean to the side to place his hand on the small of Jihoon’s back, urging him to keep his back straight.

“You look better now, see,” Soonyoung says, and when Jihoon looks at his reflection, he could almost believe it, the light hitting his body in a better angle; he looks more alive now than dead. “Let’s stretch first, okay?” Soonyoung settles himself on the floor and extends his legs in front of him, toes flexed. He leans forward to touch his toes, his fingers even extending past them. “Try to touch your toes as much as you can,” he tells Jihoon, who’s seated on the floor as well, legs spread out, “then just hold it until I tell you to stop.”

“I’m shit at this,” Jihoon warns, all he could reach for as he leaned forward is the midpoint between his knees and ankles. He pushes himself a little more and progresses by an inch. Soonyoung laughs, standing up then kneeling behind Jihoon, both knees pressed against Jihoon’s ass where it’s lying on the floor. He places his hands squarely on Jihoon’s back and nudges him a little more.

“Does it hurt?” Soonyoung asks.

Jihoon’s calves are burning, but he can reach his ankles now, so he just needs to push a little bit more… He lets out, “Kinda, but I can live with it,” with a grit of his teeth.

“Are you sure?” Soonyoung asks.

“Yeah.” 

Soonyoung nudges him forward until Jihoon can reach his toes, which he does. “Can you hold it for fifteen seconds?” he asks.

“Just don’t count,” Jihoon says, though he’s counting in his head already and has to remember to pause between numbers— _one-one-thousand, two-one-thousand, three-one-thousand_ … He hears Soonyoung laugh behind him and loses count.

“Two seconds,” Soonyoung says, then lets go of his back. “Done!”

“If I, like, get cramps or something at work…” Jihoon grumbles, drawing his legs closer to him so he could massage them, thumb rubbing circles on his calves.

“You won’t,” Soonyoung brushes him off. “Trust me.”

“I _have_ been trusting you.”

“Don’t lose your trust in me, then.” Once Soonyoung thinks Jihoon is ready, he stands up then offers his hand to Jihoon who takes it. They do regular stretches after that—craning their necks to either side, reaching up as far as they can—then Soonyoung says, “You’ll be fine, I promise. We’ll just do easy shit today.”

“Wait,” Jihoon says, crossing his arms, “I want to see you dance.”

“Me? Like, what kind of dance?”

“Uh, freestyle? Is that it?”

“Are you trying to gauge my skills? I thought you trusted me,” Soonyoung jokes.

“I do,” Jihoon deadpans. “Will you dance for me?”

Soonyoung sighs, but he gets his iPod from his gym bag and attaches it to the speakers inside the room. “I can stop whenever I want, right?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Beyoncé’s ‘Single Ladies’ is what plays. Jihoon steps back to the side as the song begins, leaning on one of the bars attached to the row of mirrors facing Soonyoung so he can watch him properly.

Jihoon doesn’t know what to expect from Soonyoung Kwon like this, if he should expect Soonyoung to dance the actual choreography (which he doesn’t) or not, but he does like that Soonyoung keeps the hand movements in the chorus as he dances. Soonyoung’s body is only blocky when he’s standing still, apparently; his body fucking transfigures into something fluid when he starts to dance.

He stops at the bridge and uses a remote control to stop the music. The room suddenly feels ten times louder, every movement Jihoon makes against the mirror rattles.

“How was it?” Soonyoung asks, his chest rising and falling as he catches his breath. “Did you like it?”

He does… He does like it—Soonyoung’s incredibly immersive when he dances, his mouth parted slightly, eyes trained on his reflection in the mirror, and he doesn’t acknowledge Jihoon at all until he stops and faces Jihoon with a smile. He also moves quickly, snappily. “Was that really a freestyle?” Jihoon asks.

“I guess? I dance to this song a lot, though, so I kinda knew what I wanted to do at certain parts…” Soonyoung tells him, face flushing red. He touches the back of his neck and ducks his head down. “Should we start? We can do something slow. You’ll follow me then we’ll just polish from there, okay?”

“Okay…” Jihoon had almost forgotten this was all about him, not Soonyoung, and he’s already settled on the idea that he’d like to watch Soonyoung dance a lot more. They stand beside each other again, but with a greater distance between them. Soonyoung does a movement first, then does it slowly, counting the beat. The third time, Jihoon does it with him, raising his arms awkwardly as he tries to mimic Soonyoung’s position in the mirror. “Is this right…?” he hesitates.

“Yeah, it is,” Soonyoung says, getting out of position so he can help Jihoon get his right. “Just raise your arm properly… it’s not, like, perpendicular to your body, but forty-five degrees above that.”

“I thought you were a business major,” Jihoon says weakly, focused on the hand Soonyoung had under his arm to prop it up.

“Hey, I got an A in math.”

“Congratulations.” He just needs to focus on the banter, not on the other hand Soonyoung had trailing down the arm that was folded close to Jihoon’s chest and especially not on how it looks in the mirror. (Jihoon’s always been a sucker for pretty things.) “What’re you doing as her assistant anyway?” he asks, 

“Huh?” Their eyes meet in the mirror again and Jihoon’s knees threaten to give in (mentally, at least, because right now they still look pretty solid in front of the mirror). “Uh, she just asked me to,” he explains. “I didn’t say no at first because she said I wouldn’t have to take PE again, then I just… I don’t know, I like helping her out. Sometimes she even teaches choreo I make to her students. Ready for the next move?” He lets go of Jihoon then assumes the same position. “From there, you just move your hands down like this, then move your left foot forward.”

“Like this?” Jihoon asks, trying to do as Soonyoung described.

“Try keeping your palms flat and your fingers close together every time. It makes your hand movements look good, you know? Solid, too. Then, like…” Soonyoung chews on his bottom lip. “Try the last move again.” Jihoon obeys. “Oh, okay, keep your knees up, too, ‘cause you want your moves to be visible, right?”

“Right,” Jihoon mumbles.

“Try looking at the mirror more often,” Soonyoung suggests, repeating the first two moves with greater fluidity.

“I… It feels weird looking at myself,” Jihoon admits with a shake of his head. “I think I look stupid.”

“You don’t,” Soonyoung says, but it might as well be just an offhand comment with how quickly he’s said it.

“Be serious.”

“I am. You just… need to be more comfortable with yourself,” Soonyoung reassures him. “If you feel good dancing, you’ll look good.”

“You’re, like, some sort of inspirational quotes guy,” Jihoon quips. It’s incredibly easy to make Soonyoung laugh, and Jihoon feels free to run his mouth as much as he wants around him.

“I _have_ been trying to sell shit for a grade,” Soonyoung concedes. “Come on, try doing the last move and then do both together.”

“What even are we dancing?” Jihoon has to ask.

Soonyoung shrugs. “I just came up with it on the spot,” he confesses, right hand reaching for the back of his neck again. He bounces on the balls of his feet. “It’d be cool to see what it looks like when we finish it, right? Let’s find a song…” He goes back to the speakers for his iPod and scrolls through it for a song. “What do you normally listen to?” he asks.

Now Jihoon’s the one shrugging. “Whatever sounds good, to be honest,” he answers. “Everything except country.”

“Not even Taylor Swift?”

Jihoon crosses his arms. “She’s more pop than country, come on.”

Soonyoung grins. “Fair enough. How about this?” Jihoon can’t place the first few bars at first, then the bass plays, nice and heavy. 

He nods his head. “I like it.”

“Yeah? It’s one of my favourite bands,” Soonyoung tells him, smiling.

“You keep surprising me,” Jihoon says; he never placed Soonyoung as the garage rock kind of guy.

“I like that idea,” Soonyoung says with a laugh. “But this means we should scrap the first moves. Come on, up goes your lazy ass.” He makes gestures with his hands for Jihoon to get up.

“I’m not lazy,” Jihoon grouses, but he stays in his position and even crosses his arms with a huff.

“We haven’t even done much but you’re sitting down already,” Soonyoung teases. He reaches for Jihoon’s hands again and guides them both up. “Stay right there while I come up with something.”

“Just let me sit down,” Jihoon whines.

“No way. Back when I was in the taekwondo team, anyone who sat down would have to do fifty push-ups.”

“This isn’t the taekwondo team,” Jihoon says drily, but he doesn’t sit down anyway—the bass line of the song is so good that he finds himself nodding his head and making tiny movements with his body along to it as he watches Soonyoung try to freestyle the intro, bottom lip between his teeth in concentration. “That looks doable.”

“I didn’t want to make a move you couldn’t do,” Soonyoung points out. “We can just do that for now then I’ll come up with more as we go along.”

“Wait… so, what do you normally do in class?”

“This kind of shit. Sometimes she makes us dance to poetry recordings.”

The poem they read on the first day of class comes to Jihoon’s mind; he can just imagine how it would be to dance out the lines, have someone straddle him and run fingers through his hair. He’s getting a boner just thinking about it. He tries to shake it out of his mind, but Soonyoung plays the song again and there’s something about the bass in the intro that just gets to him on that crisis-inducing level, like he could have sex to that song and not feel weird about it. (Fall Out Boy played during his first time, while he was rutting against a girl from one of his classes in freshman year in the backseat of her car, and had a hard time getting Pete Wentz circa 2007 out of his head after.)

“Are you okay?” Soonyoung asks, making Jihoon snap out of his reverie. “You look bored.”

“I’m not,” Jihoon is quick to tell him. “I like watching you dance.” He doesn’t know why he said it, but he does know he means it, and Soonyoung smiles again, ducks his head down.

They finish a little early that night, after going through the intro so many times Jihoon wonders why he isn’t sick of the song yet. Soonyoung just wants to see him perform the choreography alone, sure that Jihoon would get it after a certain number of reiterations, and decides to call it quits on that one last perfect round, which was fine with Jihoon (because he accepts that dance is inherently a social and physical thing but he can’t accept Soonyoung touching him to correct his position every fucking time he makes a mistake, Soonyoung’s hands firm and warm on his skin, so he’s crisis-ing a little bit).

“You’re doing great,” Soonyoung tells him as they gather their things and tidy up the practise room. “You going to work?”

“N-no, I’m gonna head home first, have dinner,” Jihoon replies.

Soonyoung nods. After locking up the dance studio, he faces Jihoon, bounces on the balls of his feet again. “See you Monday?”

“What?” Jihoon’s eyebrows knit together. “What’s on Monday?”

“Class.”

“ _Oh_. Right. See you.”

When Jihoon arrives at his dorm, it’s eight-thirty pm. He sets down his things on the floor then lies on the bed, covering his eyes with the back of his arm. With the other hand, he lowers the waistband of his shorts, taking his underwear with it, and holds his dick, fat and warm and half-hard in his hand. He gives it a gentle tug then a couple of lazy strokes, almost too tired to continue, the way his eyes are closed threatening to put him to sleep right then, but he remembers the look of Miss Ellman’s legs crossed over the edge of the table, her fingers barely peeking out from the sleeves of her cardigan. Then he remembers warm hands pressed on his shoulders and he gives a slight whimper as his thumb runs over the slit of his cock. 

He strokes faster now, practically snapping his hips up so he can fuck his fist as he thinks of someone panting on his neck, someone’s heavy weight on his lap, tasting someone else’s sweat on their skin, and he comes with a soft cry on his stomach.

“Holy shit,” he pants. He takes his arm off his eyes then stares at the ceiling until he has to go to work.


	2. good morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The unattainable lit professor just got 100% more unattainable, so Jihoon has to deal with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   * Oh my gosh it’s been so long??? I would really like to apologise for not updating sooner but school’s started hitting me _hard_ and I’ve been thinking about other things I would rather write. Luckily, my friend linked me to The School of Life’s _[The Philosophy of Oral Sex](http://www.thebookoflife.org/a-brief-philosophy-of-oral-sex/)_ (WARNING: the images are very graphic; please read this article privately) which talks about oral sex as a way of getting rid of loneliness because it permits us to really accept a person because with the right person, we’re able to let go of our inhibitions and accept ourselves. Mutual acceptance haha I’m so in love with the idea and I realised that’s what I wanted to do with this fic, so yes, to my most godless friend, thank you, and may you never read this. xx
>   * Lastly, thank you for the response!! I was really unsure about this fic but thanks for all the love, as always. The chapter after this is the reason I was so eager to write this fic so I’m a step closer to relief HAHA.
> 


 

 

 

 

> He could leap out of bed called by an alarm only he could hear. He could saunter into the shower. He could shut the shower door and rattle the tiny wired hexagons of glass. I could see him in silhouette, soaping down his private places. He could step out of the shower and rub his shoulders with the white towel. He could stand in front of the steamy mirror brushing his teeth, with the towel draped around his waist. He could comb his hair but leave it wet and slicked back, the moisture gravitating down to the ends, a few drops stuck to his cheeks below his sideburns. He could sashay into the kitchen and put the kettle on to boil. He could call out, "coffee," in a throaty voice. I could moan back, "uh-huh." He could return to the bedroom and stand in front of the open closet. The towel could slip from his hips. He could bend over to pick it up and throw it on the bed. I could feel the weight of the towel land on my ankles. HIs straight hair could curl slightly behind his right ear. I could follow the curl down the side of his neck around to the ten or fifteen strands of russet fuzz on his chest. He could have a faint vertical line of down running from his chest to his lower stomach, branching into his red pubic mound. The red telephone could ring and he could stand by the bed with his right hand on his white hip just below his tan line. He could slowly sit down on the bed and even more languorously lay his head on the pillow as he continued to speak into the phone. I could lean over and kiss his left shoulder which could smell like English lavender. I could bend my head down and kiss his tightening thigh. I could let my tongue move all the way down his thigh to his ankle. I could grab both his ankles and spread his firm legs apart. I could hear his voice quiver into the phone. I could crawl in between his legs, I could nest my head between his thighs, I could make him late for work.
> 
> —Gloria Frym, _Good Morning_ , 1988

 

***

 

Miss Ellman promised they wouldn’t discuss erotic poetry so much, but it’s only the second week in and she’s given them an ekphrastic poem of Gustav Klimt’s _The Kiss_ and now this blowjob poem that’s already setting off alarm bells in Jihoon’s head as he imagines her nicely placed between his thighs, fluffy white sheets surrounding them. He crosses his legs.

“Let’s start with the dramatic situation,” she says as she takes her place on top of her desk again, wraps her cardigan (brown this time) tighter around her torso. “Can anyone tell the rest of the class what’s happening in the poem?”

Someone from behind him says, “Morning sex.” The freshmen don’t titter today.

“Could be,” Miss Ellman replies with a nod. “Anyone else?”

“The wife is watching her husband and gets horny,” a girl this time points out.

“That’s plausible, too.” Miss Ellman crosses her ankles, leans back into her arms. “Today, we’re going to discuss how tone adds to the overall meaning of a poem. Diction is one of the easiest ways to change a poem’s tone, but the form itself could lend a hand—so think of enjambments or the spaces between stanzas; take note of where the poem pauses and where it goes on and on breathlessly. Is there punctuation? Are the letters capitalised or not?”

Jihoon imagines her writing, planning out her lecture—there are veins on her hands that are visible when she holds a pen, the beginnings of crow’s feet around her eyes, hidden behind her glasses—but he can’t account for how smoothly the words flow out of her mouth, and he likes that she doesn’t pause to explain anything so the flow isn’t disrupted.

She goes on to ask, “Do you notice anything repetitious in the poem?”

“Like, a pattern, right?” There is a pause, and Jihoon takes this time to survey the room for Soonyoung; he isn’t there. “Uh, the word ‘could’ is in every sentence…”

“Exactly,” Miss Ellman says. “Don’t you find it strange? Let’s say you have a partner, and you are watching your partner perform a morning routine, be it eating cereal from a mug or choosing an outfit to wear for work, and you mull over it, get a little aroused at the thought of making them late for work—why does the persona make use of the word ‘could’ from the very beginning? It’s not a matter of fact; it’s poeticising. The persona is poeticising about something. Maybe”—she taps her pursed lips with a finger; Jihoon presses his palm flat against his lap—“this setting isn’t really the setting.”

“So the dramatic situation's something else,” Jihoon blurts out, making her meet his gaze. He bites his cheek after, tries to draw blood but lets go because of the sharp pain.

Miss Ellman regards him with an amused smile. “Quite so, Mr Lee. Do you want to try figuring out what it is?” she asks him.

“For one, we don't know the gender of the persona…” Jihoon hesitates, bites his lip, but Miss Ellman makes motions for him to continue. “So... we can't say that they're married. Cohabiting, maybe? That's common enough,” he says, “but the ‘could’ kind of implies that they might not even be cohabiting.”

“Or together, even,” Miss Ellman chimes in, the nod she gives him enough to make him speak up more.

“Yeah,” Jihoon agrees, “I think that the persona is watching the ‘he’ of the poem, whether he knows it or not. Like”—he pauses so he can think of an appropriate enough situation, and Miss Ellman is looking at him with her hands running along the length of her thighs—“they're eyefucking at a bar and the persona is drunk enough to entertain these thoughts... or the persona is watching him. He could be watching TV or doing work, so there isn’t necessarily eye contact involved.”

“So the persona just looks at him and thinks it would be lovely to suck his cock?”

“Not really,” Jihoon says, face flushing. “The first part of the poem sounds domestic.” She licks her lips, tongue darting out pink and delicate. “There's a desire to be close,” he continues, “to be intimate, to be together, I think, that preludes all the horniness and the fucking.” He lets out a small breath at the last word and wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans. (At least he's learned to recite properly after four years, but this doesn’t even feel like he’s reciting; it feels like an intimate conversation, the distance between them only registering when he's finished and someone behind him mutters, “Fuck.”)

“Well done, Mr Lee,” Miss Ellman tells him with an approving smile. “And your major is…?”

“Linguistics,” he answers.

“That’s not too far off. You could minor in literature, if you want to.”

“I’m graduating this year.” (And he somewhat resents it now.)

The side of her mouth quirks upward. “Good luck,” she tells him, so his insides are fluttering and disgustingly warm (but his boner is still raging, so he has to wait another hour until he could jack off to the idea of her whispering erotic poetry in his ear on yesterday’s t-shirt before he goes to the laundromat after his last class).

“You’re in a good mood,” Seokmin tells him later at work. “I feel like this is the first time I’ve seen you smile.”

“Fuck off, I know how to smile.”

“But you don’t do it anyway,” teases Seokmin. Mingyu laughs from the counter where the blenders are, barely audible from the Frappuccinos being made. “I wanna know what made you so happy today.”

Jihoon waves it off just as he drizzles caramel sauce on top of a caramel macchiato and calls out an order for a Jess. “It’s none of your business, Seokmin,” he says finally. Seungkwan leaves the cash register; Jihoon takes over and bites his tongue when someone orders a venti java chip Frappuccino with whipped cream blended in it and extra whip so he doesn’t have to ask _why_.

“Can I get a grande cappuccino?” Jihoon brings his head up to look then feels the colour of his cheeks rising. “Hey,” Soonyoung greets.

“Hey.”

“You said you’d give me your employee discount.”

“I am,” Jihoon tells him as he punches in Soonyoung’s order and his employee ID, taking note of Soonyoung’s sleep-rumpled appearance—the wrinkled shirt, the way he blinks slowly, his bleary eyes, his thick voice. It’s like watching him stumble out of bed to make coffee first thing in the morning, and Jihoon shakes his head slightly at the thought.

 Soonyoung takes out his wallet from his back pocket and hands Jihoon a bill. “Thanks,” he says, “I really needed it today.”

“You don’t have to explain anything,” Jihoon says, and Soonyoung smiles at that, his eyes finally clearing up from their sleepiness.

“Miss Ellman told me about you earlier,” Soonyoung offers, and Jihoon looks up at him again, hands him back his change. “She said you were impressive today.”

Jihoon snorts. “She forced the answer out of me,” he says, the tips of his ears heating up regardless.

Soonyoung rolls his eyes. “Whatever, it’s still a compliment,” he tells him as he replaces the money in his wallet. (It is a compliment, to an overwhelming point.)“At least you know you could actually do this shit. I look at our readings and think ‘thank fuck I’m a business major’.”

“I wasn’t even looking for a good grade in her class,” Jihoon mumbles. He lowers his head. Mingyu comes up from behind and deposits Soonyoung’s cappuccino on the counter. Jihoon slides it towards Soonyoung gingerly.

“Well, you’re gonna get it,” Soonyoung remarks, getting his drink. “You should try to recognise good things when they’re in front of you.”

“I’m not blind,” Jihoon retorts.

“Yeah,” Soonyoung concedes, “you’re not.”

 

***

 

Jihoon’s been sitting in Miss Ellman’s dance class for two weeks now. It’s gotten to the point where she walks in and acknowledges him with a nod, though he keeps himself at one corner behind her actual students. Soonyoung trails after her then makes his way to Jihoon, sitting down beside him so their knees are brushing; neither of them change their position.

“She said you’d better dance since you’re here,” Soonyoung tells him by way of hello.

“Already?” Jihoon just watches them from his corner. Sometimes he does his work there and only pauses to look up when Miss Ellman is demonstrating. (Sometimes he watches Soonyoung correct the students and he takes note of how long Soonyoung lingers on someone’s shoulder.)

“It’s by partner today, so you’re stuck with me.”

“You mean, like”—Jihoon bites his lip—“couples dancing?” Soonyoung nods, making Jihoon shake his head. “No fucking way,” he grouses. “I’m not doing that.”

“You don’t trust me?” Soonyoung asks.

“I do, but I don’t see why I have to do it—” They scramble to their feet after Miss Ellman tells the class to form pairs, and Soonyoung holds on to Jihoon’s wrist, guiding him so they’re standing in front of one another at the other side of the room, towards the exit. “Do I have to be the girl?”

Soonyoung just looks at him. “What do you mean?” he asks.

“You know… how there’s always a girl and a guy in dancing…”

“Not necessarily,” Soonyoung says, shrugging. “The partners just have to complement each other, right? You can’t do your move without your partner’s.” They mimic the position everyone else has assumed—Jihoon has to place his hand on Soonyoung’s shoulder; Soonyoung puts his hand on Jihoon’s waist, then they lace their other hands together and extend their arms.

The music starts and Soonyoung steps forward, making Jihoon step back.

“See? We complement each other.”

“Right,” Jihoon says dumbly as he tries to follow the movements, the feel of Soonyoung’s hand on his waist near burning.

“Hey, keep your chin up,” Soonyoung instructs, “and look at me.”

“I’m watching my feet,” Jihoon tells him, keeping note of when he should step back and when he should step forward.

“It’ll come to you, I promise. The eye contact is also necessary.”

“Is it really?” Jihoon asks. His hands are threatening to sweat into Soonyoung’s palms, and he’s hyperaware of that, so he evens out his breathing through his nose and tries not to stumble.

“You’ll find out if you look at me.” Jihoon raises his head to meet Soonyoung’s eyes, placing his foot forward just as Soonyoung places his behind him. Soonyoung changes their angle, removing them from their stationary position so that they’re flitting between pairs and end up next to Miss Ellman, who was dancing with another student. “That wasn’t hard, right?” Soonyoung asks. “It’s important to know how your partner moves.”

“We were just stepping around,” Jihoon protests. He licks his lips, mouth suddenly dry. They let go and Jihoon immediately heads for his gym bag with Soonyoung at his heels, both of them sitting down with bottles of water in their hands to watch the others.

Miss Ellman’s extended her leg, keeps her toes pointed towards the floor, then dips her body down so she can trail her fingers up her leg and torso, creating a long line from her ankle to her neck with a gentle sweep of her fingers. Jihoon’s more aware of the veins on her hands, how the skin on the backs of her hands aren’t as supple as he first thought they were. There is a glint of light and when it passes, he sees a ring on her finger—a slim band of silver with a small diamond.

“Hey,” Jihoon says, nudging Soonyoung with his elbow, “is she getting married?”

“Miss Ellman? Yeah.”

“When were you planning on telling me this?” Jihoon hisses. His stomach is lurching forward inside him then free falling to his feet. 

Soonyoung chews on his bottom lip, eyebrows knitting together. “I only knew about it last weekend,” he tells him. “I think it only happened then, too.”

“Well, shit,” Jihoon grumbles.

Soonyoung stays quiet. He sips from his water bottle then eventually asks, “What are you going to do about us?”

“Huh?” Jihoon stares at him. “There was never an us.”

“You know I meant this.”

Jihoon chews at the skin around his thumb, muses, “There isn't a reason for me to be here, I guess.” Then he goes, “But I like whatever this is. Shit, I don’t know. What do you think?”

“Do what’s convenient for you,” Soonyoung replies. He places his hands on the floor behind him and leans back into his arms, letting the bottle of water rest between his thighs. His arms fill out the spaces of his shirt, Jihoon realises with a dull ache in his stomach before he returns his gaze to Miss Ellman, who’s now demonstrating to the class with one of her students.

“You’ll think I’m stupid if I say I want to continue this,” Jihoon says without taking his eyes off their teacher.

When he turns his head to face Soonyoung again, Soonyoung’s grinning. “I always knew you were kinda stupid,” he tells him.

“Fuck you.”

“If only,” Soonyoung teases, and Jihoon shuts up, neck turning red.

Soonyoung doesn’t bother Jihoon about it again till that Thursday, when he asks if they’re still good to go for Friday and Jihoon takes two hours to text back a yes.

_Dinner?_ texts Soonyoung. 

_Tonight?_ replies Jihoon. Soonyoung means tomorrow, apparently, because he doesn’t want to dance and he assumes Jihoon wouldn’t want to either. Jihoon just asks him if it’s his treat.

_Of course not_. Jihoon laughs at that before replacing his phone in his pocket so Seokmin doesn’t scold him for serving their customers lukewarm espressos (and it’s not like he cares about being scolded—Seokmin has this annoying baby voice he does when he thinks Jihoon is in a foul mood and he’s always surprised when it leaves Jihoon bitchier than before). Later, as soon as his shift ends, he texts, _McD’s is fine_. Soonyoung sends him back that gross tongue emoji and a thumbs up.

Come to think of it, Jihoon hasn’t gone inside a McDonald’s in a long time. He orders a Big Mac and large fries then sidles himself into a booth by the window so Soonyoung could see him before he enters. Soonyoung taps on the glass not long after and gives Jihoon a wave before going inside. He slides into Jihoon’s booth, unslinging his backpack and dropping it beside him, and steals a fry from Jihoon’s pile.

“Buy your own,” Jihoon grumbles, pulling his tray closer to him. Soonyoung pouts and extends his arm to take two more.

“They’re getting cold,” Soonyoung tells him with his mouth full. “I’ll just buy you more,” he then offers. “Got any ketchup?”

“How generous of you.” Jihoon rips open the ketchup packet with his teeth anyway and squeezes out the contents onto the tray. Soonyoung immediately grabs three fries and drags them through the ketchup. “Go order,” he tells Soonyoung.

“Promise you won’t eat till I get back?”

“Promise,” though Jihoon does sneak a fry into his mouth when Soonyoung walks off to the counter. When Soonyoung comes back with a box of twenty nuggets and two orders of large fries, Jihoon nabs two still-hot fries and a nugget.

“Wow,” Soonyoung grumbles.

“Thanks,” Jihoon tells him with a grin. He opens his own Big Mac then takes a big bite.

“Fuck off.”

“Tell me about Miss Ellman,” Jihoon requests after he swallows. He takes a sip from his Coke.

“About what?”

“Her… engagement.”

“Oh.” Soonyoung gives a weak laugh. “She’s been seeing a colleague, but she wanted to keep it a secret. I just caught them once and she made me promise to shut up about it.”

Jihoon crosses his arms and grouses, “You did a really fucking good job.” He doesn’t want to ask about how Soonyoung caught them because he thinks he could imagine how, so he just asks, “Why does she want to keep it a secret anyway?” just as Soonyoung eats a chicken nugget whole, so he waits for him to finish chewing.

“He was her former student,” Soonyoung answers, making Jihoon’s stomach drop. He pushes his Big Mac away and Soonyoung takes it hungrily. “I can eat this, right?” Jihoon nods, so Soonyoung takes the burger in his hands and bites into with glee. “It’s so weird because I knew the guy! He was the president of this org I joined back when I was a freshman, and she told me that they already had a thing then, but she was waiting for him to graduate. Then the school asked him to teach. He’s not tenured, though.”

“Obviously,” Jihoon says with a slight snort. He plays with a fry, twists the limp thing between his fingers and gives it a squeeze, making a face at the oil that’s left behind on his fingers. He sets the limp thing aside then eats another. “Shit, he’s so young, though. And she’s—”

“Old as balls.”

“Yeah. And getting married is a hell of a commitment.”

“I asked her about that. She said something really interesting,” Soonyoung confides, then he leans his head towards Jihoon so he could drop his voice. Jihoon follows suit so he could hear him. “You know what she told me? She said she’s at that point where she’s stable enough to want someone who isn’t, and she just loves it when they fuck.”

Shit. Shivers are travelling down Jihoon’s spine at the close contact, at how Soonyoung said the word ‘fuck’ because the context is literal. “If she wants someone unstable, she should’ve picked me,” Jihoon jokes. A faint smile spreads across his face, and he feels it’s more a grimace, but Soonyoung mimics the expression.

“Please, Jihoon Lee, you’re very put together.” Soonyoung stuffs another chicken nugget in his mouth then follows it with three fries while Jihoon stares at him. “For a college student, I mean,” he adds mid-chew. “Besides, calling yourself unstable is kind of a dick move, isn’t it? It’s pretentious.”

“I was joking,” Jihoon says. He forces himself to at least finish his pile of fries, but he only likes them when they’re fresh out of the fryer and piping hot. “Want my fries?” he asks Soonyoung.

“Fuck yes,” Soonyoung answers, immediately taking from Jihoon’s pile before taking a bite out of the Big Mac. “You know how everyone thinks soggy fries are gross? I love those the most. It’s like… mashed potatoes you could eat with your fingers.”

Jihoon wrinkles his nose. “You’re so gross,” he complains.

“At least I finish your food,” Soonyoung counters. “Admit it, Jihoon, you need me.” He trades Jihoon’s pile of fries for some of his, which were still warm and slightly crispy. “At least eat; you’ve got a shift later, right?”

“Kinda want nuggets…” Soonyoung pushes his box of nuggets, which still contained around seven or so nuggets, towards Jihoon, who takes it with raised eyebrows. “Uh…”

“I like the Big Mac more anyway,” Soonyoung tells him with a shrug. He finishes the burger in two more bites then wipes his mouth with a napkin. “I’m gonna go get another one,” he says.

“Go,” Jihoon says, laughing.

 

***

 

They don’t see each other until Sunday night, when Jihoon texts Soonyoung to drink with him after his shift ends.

_Why?_ Soonyoung asks.

_Why not?_ Jihoon counters. If he’s honest, his latest paper for a major class is driving him up the fucking wall. _Shift ends in half an hour. You’re buying._ He sets his phone aside and tries to type out a few more words for his paper before coming out of hiding. Seungkwan’s been cleaning; he’s leaning on the counter, watching Jihoon pretend to check out how well he’s cleaned. Jihoon pops inside the toilet for a cursory check before coming back out and teasing Seungkwan, “Maybe Seungcheol Choi and his boyfriend need to come here more often.”

Seungkwan scowls and spits, “Shut the fuck up,” making Jihoon turn on his heels.

“Watch your fucking language, Boo.” Then, Jihoon asks, “What the fuck is your problem?”

Seungkwan looks down. “Nothing,” he mumbles.

“‘Nothing’, my ass. You free tonight? I’m gonna go drinking with Soonyoung.” They go to the backroom and Jihoon doesn’t change out of his work shirt, but rather layers a jacket over it then zips it up all the way to the collar, then combs his hair with his fingers.

“Isn’t it midterms week?”

“So? Don’t tell me you’re already studying,” Jihoon tells him. “We’ll bring you home before sunrise.”

Seungkwan shakes his head. “Not in the mood,” he says, pouting.

“You’re a sad fucker who’s failing math; you need a drink,” Jihoon tells him.

“Ugh.” Seungkwan shuts the door of his locker after looking at himself with disgust. “Fine, I do need a drink,” he concedes as he packs up his things. They walk out of Starbucks together just as the next guys come in for their shift, with Seungkwan falling a step behind Jihoon.

Soonyoung’s already there and waiting with two six-packs in his hands, and he glances briefly at Seungkwan but Jihoon waves it off. They sit down in front of the entrance and Jihoon takes two cans from Soonyoung, offering one to Seungkwan, who takes it with little hesitation.

Jihoon lives for that first sip, swallows it while it’s still ice cold, then knocks back half the can in one go. Soonyoung looks at him while he’s drinking from his own can, and Jihoon can see how his eyes are smiling, narrowed down to just lines on his face. He rolls his own eyes in return. “You forgot snacks,” he grumbles, raising a fist to punch Soonyoung on the arm.

“I’m broke as fuck.” Soonyoung rubs his shoulder. “Buy it yourself.”

“Fine,” Jihoon says, standing up, “whatever.” He goes inside and takes his time looking through the other drinks, tempted to buy a bottle of that nicer beer in the fridge but doesn’t have enough money for it. Instead, he grabs three packs of chips but eventually returns it when he sees the hotdogs on a warmer by the cashier. “I’ll get three of those,” he tells the cashier, pointing at the warmer, then takes out his wallet to deposit a bill on the counter.

The hotdogs are warm on his hands, heat seeping through from the paper boxes they came in. Seungkwan accepts his without saying anything, then proceeds to taking small bites out of it. Soonyoung rubs his hands with glee and smiles and finishes his in four bites, remembering only to thank Jihoon midway, mouth entirely full. Jihoon eats his quietly then clears the crumbs from his hands and lap.

“So why’s the kid drinking with us?” Soonyoung asks on his last mouthful while pointing at Seungkwan with his (second) can of beer. “Did he crush on a regular?”

Jihoon snorts. “Kind of. It’s been a long crush,” he explains, “but the guy asked Seungkwan to help him get someone else, and he—for some reason I don’t understand—agreed.”

Soonyoung could only mouth, “Wow.” He tilts his head to give Seungkwan a glance before returning his eyes to Jihoon. “I kinda feel bad for him,” he admits, voice low, and Jihoon’s stomach twists at that, making him take a long swig of his beer. “He must really like the guy, though. Enough to say yes, I mean. That’s why I feel bad.”

“I don’t get why,” Jihoon tells him. “The guy’s kinda stupid.” Soonyoung laughs, then passes Seungkwan another beer. 

“Maybe Seungkwan’s getting something from him, then.”

“Oh, yeah, they had an agreement or something,” Jihoon muses. He turns to face Seungkwan then asks, “Hey, Seungkwan, what was the favour Seungcheol promised you?”

“Huh?” Seungkwan looks at both of them then shakes his head. Soonyoung laughs into his palm; Jihoon nudges him with an elbow. “He was gonna teach me calculus…”

“Where’s your phone?” Jihoon asks. He holds out his hand for it then waits for Seungkwan to unlock it before giving it to him. Soonyoung presses himself closer against Jihoon then points out where the Messages app is on Seungkwan’s phone as if he already knows what Jihoon’s planning to do (and Jihoon is fucked if that means anything).

“Why does his name have a devil emoji next to it?” Soonyoung whispers to him as Jihoon goes through the contacts for Seungcheol Choi’s number. 

Jihoon doesn’t want to admit he likes the closeness, likes the faint smell of beer coming from Soonyoung, so he wrinkles his nose instead and ignores his question. He hands back the phone to Seungkwan with, “Call in on your favour and take advantage of the fucker.” They’re already halfway through the second pack, he and Soonyoung doing most of the drinking. He pops a new can open then raises it to his lips.

“You’re buying the next pack,” Soonyoung tells him. Jihoon shrugs it off. Soonyoung claps him on the back and comments, “Wow, you’re being generous today.”

“Midterms is starting,” is all Jihoon says, and his plan is to get drunk on cheap beer and possibly skip his noon class tomorrow to work on his requirements for his other classes. “Stay with me?”

“What the fuck,” they hear Seungkwan say. He's scrolling through his phone as he sips his beer. “He's too fucking eager.”

“Maybe they just fucked and he feels like indulging you,” Jihoon teases. Soonyoung squeezes his knee for that.

Seungkwan makes a face and says, “Bite me.” He finishes his beer then rests on his arms, which were placed on his propped-up knees. Jihoon decides it's better to let him be.

“You want me to stay with you?” Soonyoung echoes, smiling at that (and Jihoon thinks they’ve gotten a lot closer—physically closer—within those ten seconds). “Sure.” He reaches behind Jihoon to tap Seungkwan on the shoulder. “Hey, kid, you want another beer? Give me five dollars and I’ll buy you more.”

They at least walk Seungkwan to his dorm a couple of hours after that, not because he needs it—he's been keeping Soonyoung from running his mouth all the way back to campus and Jihoon will be damned if he ever lets Soonyoung hear the end of it—but because Soonyoung insists on it. Jihoon walks a couple of steps behind them and pays attention to the way Soonyoung’s fingers are curled around Seungkwan’s waist.

“Okay,” Jihoon tells Soonyoung once Seungkwan’s entered his dorm building, “you’re coming home with me.” They must’ve gone in and out of the convenience store at least thrice after their initial purchases—Jihoon to buy chips and Soonyoung to buy more beer and Seungkwan to ask if he could pee in their toilet; Jihoon’s head is pleasantly heavy and swimming and Soonyoung is slurring.

“I always knew this would happen,” Soonyoung jokes. “I just didn’t think it would be so soon.”

Jihoon grimaces. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“This,” Soonyoung tells him. He wraps an arm around Jihoon’s shoulders then draws himself closer to him. They walk to Jihoon’s dorm with their sides bumping into the other’s, and Jihoon thinks they’ll get bruises the next day from all the jostling.

(The apartment where Jihoon lives is outside campus, and he used to share rent with this student who came from China, but that guy thought Jihoon was too bitchy in the mornings and found someone else—who also came from China—to share an apartment with, so Junhui moved out last semester, and it takes him four rounds of going back to the room to fetch his things; Jihoon, of course, didn’t bother helping him.)

It takes a while for Jihoon to remember that he’s left clothes on the floor, so he no longer wants Soonyoung to come inside. He fumbles with his keys, making Soonyoung reach for them and go, “Let me try.” Jihoon points out the right key, and Soonyoung misses the lock entirely because he tried putting in the key upside down.

Jihoon laughs, takes the keys from Soonyoung’s fingers and unlocks the door a little more smoothly. They stumble in. Jihoon takes hold of Soonyoung’s wrist then leads him to the bed, which makes Soonyoung laugh so hard Jihoon’s afraid they’ll wake up the neighbours.

“What the fuck,” Jihoon tells him, clasps a hand over Soonyoung’s mouth. “Shut up.”

“I am,” Soonyoung says, and it sounds all garbled through Jihoon’s hand, Soonyoung’s breath damp and hot and uncomfortable on his palm, so he removes his hand and wipes it on Soonyoung’s shirt. Soonyoung makes a face and asks Jihoon what his problem was; Jihoon tells him nothing, he doesn’t have a problem.

Jihoon says, “You need to sleep,” then pushes Soonyoung on the bed, feeling himself topple over because Soonyoung grabs Jihoon’s arm and pulls, so Jihoon’s lying directly on top of him and they only have to move around a bit to get into a more comfortable position. “What are you you doing?” he asks. (What little of) Soonyoung’s eyes are glazed and his mouth is curled into a smile.

“Well, I’m trying to do you.”

“No, we are not doing this,” Jihoon protests. His chest feels tight, but he blames it on how it’s placed on top of Soonyoung’s, with his entire weight leaning on it. There are fingers in his hair, Soonyoung’s.

“Shit, Jihoon, if you knew how hot you look—”

“I’m not. And you’re not doing me.”

“Oka—”

“If anything”—Jihoon’s lips curl into a smile as well—“I’d be doing you.”

Soonyoung laughs, says, “No fucking way.” His hand is on the back of Jihoon’s neck now, nice and warm. “Maybe we switch,” he muses.

“Maybe.” Jihoon’s heart _should_ be beating fast, but it only feels like a heavy thud inside of him. He reaches out a hand to touch Soonyoung’s face, running the backs of his fingers down Soonyoung’s cheek, and Soonyoung leans into the touch, practically melts into it. “Holy fuck,” he says, “do you like me, Soonyoung Kwon?”

“We need a working definition for ‘like’,” Soonyoung tells him, but he leans up or pulls Jihoon by the hair (Jihoon doesn’t know; maybe it’s both) so their lips are touching and Jihoon rests one hand on Soonyoung’s collarbones and the other beside Soonyoung’s head on the pillow. The kiss is slack, Soonyoung’s breath hot on his skin, and they pull away too quickly, and somewhere in those seconds between Jihoon looking out the window, at the hazy streetlights outside, and him looking back at Soonyoung, Soonyoung’s fallen asleep. Jihoon rolls over so he’s no longer on top of Soonyoung and falls asleep too, the backs of their hands brushing.

An alarm rings and Jihoon wants to smash that phone to pieces or throw it out the window. “Turn it off or I’m kicking you out,” Jihoon grumbles as he turns on his side so he could rustle Soonyoung awake.

“I am, I am,” Soonyoung tells him back, voice thick. The alarm stops and there’s peace again. “Sorry; it’s for my ten am class,” he has to explain.

“Shit, what time is it?”

“Six?”

“Ugh,” Jihoon complains, burrowing his head into his pillow, “that’s four hours from now.” He hasn’t opened his eyes yet and he doesn’t want to—there is sunlight already streaming into his eyes from behind his eyelids.

“I want to wake up slowly,” he hears Soonyoung say behind him, and indeed, his voice had gotten clearer. He stands up, the bed colder now that Jihoon’s the only one on it, and asks if he could use the bathroom to clean up. Jihoon points it out to him, the only other room in the entire apartment, and only opens his eyes to watch Soonyoung walk away.

 


	3. scheherazade

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is 6000 words of feelings and godlessness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   * Hello, again!!! It’s been another long time since I’ve updated. OTL I had a look at the first chapter and I realise that because it took me too long to update and I therefore had more time to plan out the next chapters, there are inconsistencies in tone, so I apologise for any one who’s reading this from the beginning, especially to those who notice there’s something off HAHA.
>   * Holy shit 1000+ views?? in this short span of time??? I feel so spoiled because of you guys omg thank you thank you [heart emoji]
>   * I want to dedicate this chapter to my lovely Tuna because she’s been linking me dance videos both of my own request and of her own efforts just so I can get this chapter’s dance scene right!! I still can't write dance for shit but that doesn't mean her efforts went unnoticed. I love you, Tuna!! You are the only innocent maknae left in this world. [heart heart emoji]
>   * And speaking of 'innocent maknaes', happy birthday to the evil maknae who started this whole mess!!!! [party emoji]
>   * OH MY GOSH THE PORN. It started out with three kinks then as I wrote it, it went to seven, so I’m going to go ahead and apologise right away for how godless I’ve been with my last fics. To LoadedGunn, of One Direction driver instructor fic fame, you have dragged me down.
>   * TO MY ENGLISH AND LITERATURE PROFESSOR FOR TWO SEMESTERS LAST SCHOOL YEAR—I am so, so, so sorry I used one of the pieces in my poetry readings for gay porn, but I can do critical analysis now! I'll try to do something less trashy with this newfound skill, I swear.
>   * TO MY FILIPINO 11 PROFESSOR—Sir, I love you so, so much. I still want to know what kind of sketchy porn you watch but I know you've already transcended that since you're all about ~ecocriticism~ and ~getting fucked by nipa huts~. I'm so sorry I used your film as a starting point for this fic, but, again, I think I can be able to read literature more critically and think more critically this time around. Putangina, sir, kung alam mo lang kung gaanong kapopular na 'ko dahil dito, sana matawa ka lang haha. Labyu po.
>   * I realise I did a lot of dedications but they're not unfounded, trust me, haha. I hope you guys enjoy this chapter!
> 


 

>   
>  _Tell me about the dream where we pull the bodies out of the lake,_  
>  _and dress them in warm clothes again_  
>  _How it was late, and no one could sleep, the horses running_  
>  _until they forget they are horses._  
>  _It’s not like a tree where the roots have to end somewhere,_  
>  _it’s more like a song on a policeman’s radio,_  
>  _how we rolled up the carpet so we could dance, and the days_  
>  _were bright red, and every time we kissed there was another apple,_  
>  _to slice into pieces._  
>  _Look at the light through the windowpane. That means it’s noon, that means_  
>  _we’re inconsolable._  
>  _Tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us._  
>  _These, our bodies, possessed by light._  
>  _Tell me we’ll never get used to it._  
>  —Richard Siken,  _Scheherazade_ , 2005  
> 

 

***

 

The first thing Miss Ellman does is gush and fangirl in an extraordinarily coherent way. “I first read this ten years ago, would you believe?” she says. She's reading from a copy of the author's book, the covers worn thin and the pages yellowing and dog-eared. Everyone else in class just has a printout of the reading; Jihoon's already highlighted _Tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us_ on his. “The imagery Siken uses here is airtight and appropriate to its context, but of course, we need to find that context—” She looks up, pushes her glasses farther up her nose then goes, “Yes, Soonyoung?”

Jihoon tries to watch him from the corner of his eye, but he's barely perceptible.

“What's Scheherazade?” Soonyoung asks.

“Ah, yes, I was just getting to that,” Miss Ellman answers, smiling. “It's the crux of the context. So Scheherazade is credited as the storyteller of _One Thousand and One Nights_ , and her story goes like this: there is a lonely, bitter king who decided to marry a new virgin each day then behead her at sunrise—all because he found out his first wife cheated on him. Now, the king had gone through one thousand virgins until he married Scheherazade.

“Scheherazade volunteered to do it, so you could already tell she had something planned. On the night of her marriage, she asked the king if she could see her sister, who was tasked to ask her to tell a story, so she does. The king was present and listened to her story, but she doesn't finish when dawn comes. She's about to be beheaded, so she tells the king she can't finish her story, unfortunately.

“He was so engrossed in the story that he tells her he'll give her another night to finish the story, but on that second night, she finishes the story then starts with a new one. Again, she doesn't finish before dawn, so the king spares her life one more time so she could finish her story. This goes on for a thousand stories and a thousand and one nights. By the end of her last story, the king had already fallen in love with her and spared her life forever.”

At the end of her story, the whole class remains silent. Jihoon feels his stomach start to turn again, his mouth going dry and cottony.

“So let's think about how Scheherazade adds another layer of meaning to the story,” Miss Ellman says, her tone light and crisp again. The class feels like it's let out a collective sigh. “Who is the persona? Or rather, what is the persona doing?”

“The persona sounds like the king?” someone offers. “The poem begins with ‘ _Tell me about the dream… again_ …’ so, like, the persona's been told all these stories, and he's looking for them again.”

“There’s also this thing that indicates a passage of time,” another student says. “‘ _Look at the light through the windowpane. That means it’s noon_ ’—so, like, the persona lost track of time.”

Miss Ellman hums. “And what do you make of that?” she asks.

“Isn’t that what love’s like? You lose track of time?”

“There are people who have weeksaries or monthsaries because these people want to know for how long they as a couple have been established,” Miss Ellman says, “but you can also argue that the incessant documentation of a relationship means one is not entirely in love, like how you’d keep track of how many minutes are left in this class”—a few of them laugh behind their hands—“or how you count the days leading up to something big. There’s something impatient about it, something that reduces whatever it is you’re counting to something nominal.

“But the lovely thing about Siken’s poem is that it’s not rushing anything; he directs us down the path of the poem gently. There is tension between the first half of the poem and the second—the first part is dreamlike, almost as if it’s telling a story of its own, while the second part calls us back to the situation, to what’s happening outside the bubble that encases the persona and the one being spoken to. And look at this line: ‘ _That means it’s noon, that means we’re inconsolable_ ’. Noon means different things to the persona and to the one being spoken to, like how dawn means death for Scheherazade while dawn means retribution for the king. Again, tension plays a big role here.”

The room feels like it’s going to burst. Jihoon fidgets in his seat. He glances at Soonyoung, watches him chew on his bottom lip from his periphery.

“How can you tell the king is in love with Scheherazade? What marks the transition?” Miss Ellman asks. “And what could the persona mean by ‘ _Tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us_ ’? What’s going to be their ruination?

“The act of love here is the desire to prolong. When you go on that second date, when you chat until sunrise—when you prolong an act or a situation for the sake of the act itself or the situation… that’s love. And also, quite possibly, your own ruination.” Miss Ellman looks around the room, at their facial expressions, then says with a laugh, “We don’t mean ‘ruination’ here like it’s a bad thing. Scheherazade ruined the king’s thirst for retribution, for one thing. When we say ‘ruination’, it’s more akin to a shift in what it is we know about ourselves and what we believe in.” Jihoon swears she meets his eyes when she says, “When you ask someone to stay, for instance.”

He looks at Soonyoung again, the tips of his ears heating up, and he finds Soonyoung looking at him too, his mouth curving upwards into a shy smile and Jihoon finds himself returning it, the churning in his stomach increasing—but in a good way; it makes him duck his head back down and smile into his readings.

(Nothing happens after that class ends. Jihoon leaves right away for his next class but decides on skipping it in favour of sleeping at the library with music blasting in his ears, and when he wakes up, there’s a jacket draped over his shoulders that isn’t his.)

 

***

 

“You’re smiling again,” Seokmin tells him. He’s smiling too, his brilliantly white teeth flashy and annoying.

Jihoon’s busy trying to get the foam of a latte to settle on top of the coffee right. After once last flick of his wrist, he sets down the jug of frothed milk and caps off the order, calling for a Josh to come and get it. It’s only then that he turns to face Seokmin.

“Did something good happen?” Seokmin then asks him.

Jihoon just smiles, answers, “Yeah, something did,” making Mingyu turn his head from where he was preparing someone’s sandwich.

“Holy shit,” Mingyu says. (Somewhere behind them, Seungkwan is sneaking off to the back to meet Seungcheol Choi, or Seungcheol Choi is sneaking off to the back to meet Seungkwan, entirely forgoing the entrance, cigarette already placed between his lips.) He places the sandwich on the counter for pick up then leans on it, crossing his arms in front of Jihoon. “Okay, ’fess up, you tiny fucker.”

“You expect me to after you call me a tiny fucker?” Jihoon asks drily. He crosses his arms too.

“You got laid, didn’t you?”

Seokmin settles himself between them, near the espresso machine. “Is it a regular?”

Jihoon snorts. “No.”

“Guy, girl, nonbinary?” Mingyu asks.

“None of your fucking business,” Jihoon deadpans.

Seungkwan comes back, cheeks flushed, a faint smell of smoke coming from him. He stops to survey the scene in front of him, eyebrows knitting together. He asks, “Did I miss something?”

“Yeah, your work, kid,” Jihoon tells Seungkwan as he walks past him. “My shift’s over; bye.” There’s no line in front of the registers when Jihoon leaves but from the backroom, he could hear Soonyoung make light conversation with Seungkwan as he comes to pick up his caffé misto (he loves the gentleness of it) as he puts on Soonyoung’s jacket over his work clothes then heads home.

 

***

 

They don’t see each other again until that Friday. Jihoon arrives wearing Soonyoung’s jacket, enjoying the way the sleeves extend to cover the backs of his hands to warm them up in the cooling weather. Soonyoung looks up from where he’s concentrated on the lock of the door, eyes softening and mouth smiling.

“You’re wearing it,” Soonyoung says. His voice is soft, too, and happy. (Jihoon had to launder all of his other jackets and hoodies, or so he says; really, he just likes the smell of Soonyoung’s jacket when he puts it on.)

“Thanks,” Jihoon tells him as he ducks his head down, hand reaching up for the back of his neck.

“How’d you know it was mine?” Fuck him, Soonyoung’s teasing him now. Jihoon just snorts and rolls his eyes then makes moves to take it off so he could return it to Soonyoung. He stops him and says, “No, keep it. I like seeing you in it.”

Well. “Thanks. Again.”

Soonyoung beams at him. “Of course.” He remembers to unlock the door so they could enter.

Jihoon asks, “What are we doing today?” as he deposits his gym bag in one corner of the room.

“Uh…” Soonyoung plays with his lips, jutting them out into a pout as he scrolls through his iPod for the song. “We’re almost done. Just the last bars or something,” he says, then looks up at Jihoon.

“That fast?” Jihoon asks.

“What can I say? You learn quickly, Jihoon,” Soonyoung replies (and Jihoon resents the compliment). “Let's start from the top then see what we've got so far, okay?”

Jihoon puts himself into position in front of a section of mirror then waits for Soonyoung to get into position as well. The music starts, the bass line coming in around ten seconds after.

Soonyoung starts dancing first, moving his head to the side. His movements exaggerate his neck, stretching it out to the point that his neck is illumined by the light, lean and sturdy. Once the lyrics start, he moves in earnest, imitating a sitting position, and Jihoon can see his thighs quiver slightly from where he’s standing. Soonyoung reaches for something with his fingers then covers his mouth with it. He trails it down his body, stopping short of his waist then rolling his hips as he brings his body back up to a standing position.

In all this, Jihoon nearly forgets to make his own body move. He watches himself in the mirror, admonishes himself mentally for how robotic he looks, at how simple his moves are compared to Soonyoung’s. He extends an arm, puts a foot behind him, clenches at his extended upper arm with his free hand, then tries to roll his body. 

At the line before the chorus, they go into the same position, and Jihoon smiles a bit at this line because Soonyoung’s only making him wag his finger— _don’t, don’t, don’t call me baby—_ before shrugging on an imaginary coat (but Jihoon tugs on the jacket he’s wearing, makes its weight more apparent on his body), and it feels out of place with the rest of the song—light and unexpected and nearly jarring in its humour.

He keeps an eye on Soonyoung as they dance through the chorus, his own moves muscle memory by now, and he thinks Soonyoung looks at him back through the mirror, so he averts his gaze and focuses on himself, on how his shoulders move to the punctuated syllable in the song— _away-ay-ay-ay-ay-ay_ —and on putting his feet in the right places at the right distances.

There’s a particular move Jihoon’s in love with—the one where they curl into themselves, slide their foot back, then cover their face with fanned out fingers before using those fingers to run down their opposite arm. (For some reason, he thinks he looks good doing it when he faces himself in the mirror.)

They repeat the chorus then the song goes into an instrumental bridge. At this point, Soonyoung stops the music and says, “Hey, you know something? I was reading the lyrics the other day and… we haven’t really, like, thought about what the song says, so we’ve been dancing more to, like, how it sounds…”

“That’s okay, right?”

“Yeah, but, you _did_ sign up for an interpretive dance class—till you stopped going, I mean,” Soonyoung says, grinning at him. “Do you wanna go hard on the last part?”

“Depends,“ Jihoon says, chewing on his lip. He crosses his arms. “What was your reading of it?“ Then he goes, “Shit, we sound so pretentious right now.”

“Admit it, Jihoon, this entire situation is pretentious,“ Soonyoung says with a laugh. He shows the lyrics to Jihoon, points out the first stanza. “The persona’s been trying to push the one being spoken to away, right? All that ‘ _Don’t call me baby_ ’ shit is just the persona going all, like, ‘Hey, I think you’re shit for me so don’t come near me’.”

“Yeah…”

“But the chorus—It’s almost contradictory. The first part, ‘ _Can you take your haunting away?_ ’ says that the persona wants the ‘you’ of the poem to fix himself. Like, get rid of what makes that guy sad or broken, you know?”

“‘Cause the persona thinks he’s going fuck the persona up,” Jihoon tells him. Soonyoung looks up again at Jihoon, smiling that soft silly smile of his.

“You get it, right? So the last part, when the persona tells him it’s either that or take his heartbeat away, it’s like the persona wants that ruination anyway, like the one being spoken to should fix himself or drag the persona down with him. In the stanza before this, the persona was looking for him— _‘to the heart I’ve treasured_ ’—so it’s kind of like the persona finds himself drawn to the one spoken to and values him. But towards the end, the persona finds himself broken, too, like one broken thing leads to another, like the persona valuing the one being spoken to is enough to ruin him,” Soonyoung says finally.

“Shit,” is all Jihoon could say.

“Maybe they’re trying to fix themselves by being together,” Soonyoung says with a shrug. “Wanna try the last part out?”

Jihoon nods, his heart pounding in his chest. He’s grateful for the jacket because it’s hiding how the hairs on his arms are standing on end. They get into position and Soonyoung starts the song again from the middle of it, making tiny movements with his body until he gets to the part he wants to dance out, around the last thirty seconds or so.

“So we’re keeping that thing we have, where we dance individually, but at this part we’re gonna converge. I said we’ll go hard ‘cause it involves dancing together,” Soonyoung tells him then licks his lips, “but we’ve danced together before, so it shouldn’t be too hard, right?”

“Yeah. I just have to complement you.”

“And vise-versa.”

Right. Jihoon just nods and lets Soonyoung guide him.

“I want us to circle each other, but from an arm's width apart. Put out your left arm,“ Soonyoung says, and Jihoon does. The tips of their fingers are barely brushing now that Soonyoung's extended his arm, too, and steps back. “And we get closer every fourth beat, like this”—he lets his fingers walk on the underside of Jihoon's arm, the tips of them tickling Jihoon's wrist—“but you're doing it on the back of my hand. Like yin yang.” Jihoon follows then wraps his fingers around Soonyoung's arm when Soonyoung does the same for Jihoon.

“What comes after this?”

“You run your hand up my arm.” Soonyoung holds out his free hand to guide Jihoon's, controlling the pace until it slows down to something gentle, coming from the crook of Soonyoung's elbow and travelling up to his shoulder. “You wanna do it gradually, until the lyrics stop then it's just instrumental, 'cause the lyrics repeat for a long time.”

“Okay…”

“Wait, let's try this one out,” Soonyoung says. He lets of Jihoon then goes back to his iPod to rewind the track, letting it play a few bars before the part they're supposed to dance. Jihoon's stomach is churning; he's hyperaware of Soonyoung again, keeping an eye on him, on his small, pink tongue sticking out between his lips. Soonyoung's hand is warm and firm on his shoulder and it takes a moment to register that their sides are touching and Soonyoung's staring at him. “Then I push you away, so don't, like, grab on my shoulder, but don't worry; I won't push you too hard. I wanna be able to reach your hand so I can pull you back, but make sure when you fall back, you lean more to the left? Your right hand's the one I need to reach.”

Holy shit. “So when you pull me back…” Jihoon hesitates, “the song finishes?”

Soonyoung hums in acknowledgement then grins. “Great, right? I never paid attention to the lyrics of a song like this before. I normally just like the way it sounds, you know?”

“Me, too…” Poetry class has ruined both of them forever, it seems like. “Fuck that poetry class.”

Soonyoung laughs. “Yeah. Come on, we should try out everything we learned today,” he suggests, then rewinds the song again. “Make sure you keep your eyes on me, though. You look kinda distracted earlier.”

Jihoon feels his cheeks warming up. “Noted.”

The part comes along again, and Jihoon reminds himself to look up at Soonyoung instead of the beads of sweat collecting on his throat. He's not smiling, face screwed up something intense. When their hands reach each other's shoulders, Jihoon could feel Soonyoung's breath ghosting on the side of his neck, warm and light—almost a tickle of air, then he's pushed backwards suddenly, the warmth replaced by airconditioned air before he's pulled back, Soonyoung's hand wrapped around his wrist, guiding it to its place between their bodies, on Soonyoung's chest.

Jihoon's other arm is slack by his side while Soonyoung rests his other hand on the small of Jihoon's back. Like this, they could almost kiss—Jihoon only has to stand on his toes. Jihoon brings up his free hand to rest on the back of Soonyoung's neck.

“Holy shit,” Jihoon says, the words coming out as an exhale. He backs Soonyoung up against one of the many mirrors surrounding the room, and there is an underlying fear that they might shatter it but it gets replaced by the overwhelming thought that nothing broke so they’re free to do what they want with it. Soonyoung lets out a bit of laughter that makes Jihoon laugh, too, and the tension melt away.

“So I guess this means we're not doing another round?” Soonyoung jokes. Jihoon shushes him.

“You like me,” Jihoon says. He twists his fingers in Soonyoung's shirt, bites his lip. There's a lump in his throat he's been meaning to swallow.

“I do.”

Jihoon swallows at that. The next thing he says is a little more clear, his voice less thick in his throat. He steps closer to Soonyoung, puts one leg between Soonyoung’s. There’s a visible action of swallowing that Soonyoung does that Jihoon pays attention to. He says, “I like you.”

“Maybe,” Soonyoung tells him.

“ _No_ ,” Jihoon tells him. “I do.”

“Shit,” Soonyoung lets out then laughs. Jihoon shushes him again and brings Soonyoung's head down so they could kiss. The feeling’s different now that they’re both sober and kissing each other back—when Soonyoung pulls his head back, Jihoon leans up to chase his mouth, fingers tangling themselves in Soonyoung’s hair. Soonyoung tightens his hold on Jihoon’s waist, pulling him closer, while the other hand sneaks up to where Jihoon’s hand is curled on top of the mirror next to his head so it could lace its fingers with Jihoon’s.

They pull apart, Jihoon trailing kisses along Soonyoung’s jaw, feeling the sharp jut of bone against his lips, while Soonyoung sighs. When he latches on to Soonyoung’s neck, lapping up the skin and sucking on it, Soonyoung gives a moan above him. The sound makes him roll his hips right into Soonyoung and he grins against Soonyoung’s throat when Soonyoung lowers the hand that was resting on the small of Jihoon’s back to cup his ass.

“ _God_ ,” Soonyoung breathes when Jihoon grinds into Soonyoung’s hand.

Jihoon lowers his head to place kisses on the column of Soonyoung’s throat before tugging on the collar of Soonyoung’s shirt with his teeth. He lets his hands go from their hold on Soonyoung and runs them down from Soonyoung’s shoulders to his chest to the hem of his shirt.

Soonyoung stops him, places a gentle hand on Jihoon’s wrist. “I can’t,” he says, the other hand letting go of Jihoon’s ass so he could tug his shirt further down.

“You’re perfect,” Jihoon tells him before reaching up for another kiss. His hand sneaks in under Soonyoung’s shirt, presses itself flat against Soonyoung’s stomach. “Holy _fuck_ , you’re so perfect.” He doesn’t know where what he’s saying is coming from, just that he feels it’s true when he presses his fingers into the soft skin of Soonyoung’s stomach and feels it give under his touch. His knees hit the floor and he mouths on the hem of Soonyoung’s shirt before lifting it up so he can place kisses on Soonyoung’s stomach, on the down of hair leading to his waistband (and Jihoon doesn’t know why he expects it to be blond but he’s pleasantly surprised). “I want you so bad,” he murmurs, thumbs digging into Soonyoung. He dips a tongue into Soonyoung’s bellybutton, making him hiss and reach for Jihoon’s hair.

“ _Fuck_ —You can have me, Jihoon,” Soonyoung coos. Jihoon has to palm himself first—a firm pressure on his dick with the heel of his hand—because he loves Soonyoung’s voice, especially when it sounds so breathless like this, loves the whines he can elicit out of him. Soonyoung pulls him up by the hair for a messy kiss, teeth clashing, before they slow down and Soonyoung shyly grazes Jihoon’s bottom lip with his tongue, which makes Jihoon want to keel over and die, but instead he relaxes his jaw and lets Soonyoung explore the inside of his mouth.

They part so Jihoon can finally slip Soonyoung’s shirt over his head. He runs his hands over Soonyoung’s chest, thumbs over a nipple, then goes back up to dance his fingers on Soonyoung’s shoulders before running them down his arms. He gives Soonyoung’s upper arm a pinch and relishes how much of Soonyoung gives in under Jihoon’s touch. “Do you see yourself in the mirror?” Jihoon asks. The entire room is covered in mirrors; if he opens his eyes and turns his head to either side, he could see how flushed he looks pressed against Soonyoung. The contrast between him fully clothed and Soonyoung, torso bare and panting above him, gets him so turned on, and he feels Soonyoung feel it, too, feels Soonyoung hardening against his thigh.

“Y…Yeah, but I don’t like it…”

“Shit, you’re so hot, Soonyoung,” Jihoon tells him, pressing kisses again on his chest. “I could have you like this all day.” He takes a nipple on his mouth then sucks on it, and the small “ _ah_ ” Soonyoung lets out is incredibly flattering and arousing. There’s a tug on his hair when he presses the flat of his tongue on the nipple, licking it in broad strokes before sucking on it again and grazing it with his teeth. He hears a slam and then a mirror rattling and when he looks up, he sees that Soonyoung’s head has fallen back against the mirror.

Soonyoung tells him not to stop as if he knew Jihoon was going to ask him if he was okay, and he strokes Jihoon’s hair for reassurance, gives him a soft smile, and begs for him to continue. Jihoon switches his attention to the other nipple, reaches below him for Soonyoung’s ass to give it a squeeze. Soonyoung grinds into him then tugs the waist of his pants down, taking the underwear with it until both pool around his ankles. He kicks them off then slips off his shoes. Jihoon toes off his shoes as well and they step backwards out of that mess until they’re at the centre of the room, hands linked.

“Get on your knees,” Jihoon tells him, face flushing at the sight of Soonyoung naked in front of him, cock hard and red against the black of his pubic hair. Soonyoung does, making Jihoon feel a warmth of flood in his gut. He gets down on his knees too, reaches forward to kiss Soonyoung’s nape then says, “Fuck, you’re so pretty like this. Like a work of fucking art.”

“Fuck,” Soonyoung pants beneath him. He shivers when Jihoon trails a kiss down his spine to his ass, gives a cursory peck to both cheeks before giving them a slap, the sound echoing inside the room. “Ji _hoon_ —”

Jihoon shushes him again as he squeezes Soonyoung’s ass then massages it, rubbing deep circles into it and blowing air across the reddened surface. He slaps it again and smiles at the slight jiggle his ass makes. “Shit, you look good enough to eat,” he says.

“ _Fuck_ , Jihoon, just do it,” Soonyoung growls, grinding his ass against air. Jihoon laughs and bends down to blow more air on the surface of Soonyoung’s skin, making him suck in a breath. “Jihoon, I swear to God—” he begins before getting cut off by Jihoon spreading his butt cheeks then placing his tongue on the crevice.

The taste is surprising, Jihoon thinks; it just tastes like skin. He digs his fingers into Soonyoung’s butt, hard enough to leave half-moon nail indentations, but he mostly loves the way the excess spills out of his fingers, loves how he can’t contain Soonyoung in his hands. “You feel amazing,” Jihoon reassures him, “like a peach.”

Soonyoung laughs at that, but it comes out shaky and breathless, more gasps than anything else. He licks his lips and cranes his neck to watch Jihoon, their eyes meeting for a brief second before his eyes look up, at the mirror behind them and they widen. Soonyoung mouths, “Holy fucking shit,” which makes Jihoon laugh, sending vibrations and warm air to Soonyoung’s skin until he’s left shivering and shaking, grabbing on to Jihoon’s hair so Jihoon could just fuck him with his tongue already instead of teasing him with quick darts of his tongue and presses of the flat of his tongue against his entrance. His back muscles are arched and taut. He’s making soft whines. “Jihoon…”

Jihoon covers the hand Soonyoung has on his hair with his own and pats the back of it gently while he spits onto the crevice of Soonyoung’s ass before bringing that hand up to his mouth. He gives it long, wet licks, unsatisfied until it’s dripping and he teases Soonyoung’s entrance with it, circling around the perimeter.

Soonyoung pulls at his hair again; it hurts a little more this time, is sharper. He lets out a strangled moan when Jihoon finally enters a finger inside of him, crooking it upwards then introducing his tongue, fucking him with slow thrusts of his tongue. Jihoon assumes he’s seen himself on the mirror because Soonyoung sneaks a hand down to touch himself.

He slaps it away, making Soonyoung whimper, then strokes Soonyoung’s cock for him, rubs his thumb over the head.

“Jesus _Christ_ ,” Soonyoung groans as he grinds his ass into Jihoon’s mouth. Jihoon’s chest is getting tight because he’s forgotten how to breathe, so he pulls away but keeps his finger inside Soonyoung, fucking him while he sucks on the skin of Soonyoung’s inner thighs. His thighs feel like pillows, like warm pieces of bread. Jihoon squeezes Soonyoung’s ass again as he tries to leave a mark on him.

“You’re so soft,” Jihoon tells him, voice softened with awe. “Are you ready for another?”

“Another what?” Soonyoung’s thighs are quivering beneath Jihoon’s lips, but he rolls his hips, chasing Jihoon’s hands whenever they’re so much as lifted an inch away from his skin. His voice is shaky; Jihoon loves it.

“Finger.”

Soonyoung whines, “Fuck yes.” Jihoon pulls his finger out of Soonyoung’s ass (and when he tilts his head to look at the mirror directly across Soonyoung, he finds Soonyoung’s lips caught in a pout) and he slaps him when he brings it closer to Jihoon.

“Patience,” Jihoon says, then puts both fingers inside his mouth, coating them in spit until it rolls down his wrist in its wetness. He inches them inside Soonyoung’s entrance, fucks him slowly, before returning his tongue to it. Soonyoung _squirms_ , and Jihoon realises he could eat Soonyoung’s ass out all day if that means keeping him on edge, if it means he gets to hear Soonyoung make all those noises above him, and it’s better in bright lighting, when his ass is all red and every part of his body is hit by light and Jihoon sees how tense his back is.

“Just do it already, please,” Soonyoung whispers. Jihoon ignores him but slows down until his fingers aren’t moving inside of Jihoon. “Shitting Christ, I’m _serious_ —”

“Huh?” Jihoon grins. “Do what already?”

“ _Fuck_.”

Jihoon laughs, presses kisses on the curve of Soonyoung’s butt. “You’re so cute like this when your ass is in the air. And you sound so _needy_ ,” he coos but he raises his free hand to slap Soonyoung again, then soothes it with his mouth—he laps at the reddened skin with his tongue then blows air on it to cool it down.

“You know what I want,” Soonyoung chokes out.

“I want you to say it.”

“Are you fucking serious?” If Jihoon looks up at the mirror, he hopes he sees Soonyoung’s face flushed red, mouth parted and swollen and pink. “ _Please_ , Jihoon.” Jihoon shivers at that.

“Please what?”

“I need you,” Soonyoung whimpers. “I want you.”

“You want my dick?” Jihoon withdraws his fingers then reenters them, starts to fuck Soonyoung again in slow motions.

“ _Yes._ ”

“Tell me,” Jihoon says, leaning over so his chest is pressed against Soonyoung’s back and he’s laying kisses on the sides of Soonyoung’s neck, on his nape. “Tell me what you want me to do to you.”

Soonyoung arches into the touch. “Please fuck me,” he manages to say, and it’s all Jihoon takes for him to let go of Soonyoung and he stands up.

Before he can bring his pants down, he says, “Fuck me, we don’t have lube.”

“I have lotion in my bag,” Soonyoung says, and Jihoon laughs but goes to get it anyway.

Once Jihoon has the lotion, he squeezes a generous amount on his hand then strokes himself, settling between Soonyoung’s legs. “Your ass is gonna be moisturised after this,” he jokes.

“Shit, Jihoon, where are your manners,” Soonyoung grouses, but he wriggles his butt closer to Jihoon again. Jihoon positions himself then inches his way in, laying kisses on Soonyoung’s back.

“Are you okay?”

“Of course I am.”

“Good.” Jihoon lifts his head and in this position, he could see himself in the mirror, so he watches himself thrust into Soonyoung slowly, pays attention to how Soonyoung’s face screws up, at his cock bobbing between his legs, leaking onto the floor. “Are you seeing this?” he asks, stretching forward so he could kiss Soonyoung’s temple.

“Fuck yeah,” Soonyoung exhales.

“You look amazing.”

“Shit.” Soonyoung touches himself again, strokes himself in broad, languid strokes. Jihoon reaches down and covers Soonyoung’s hand so they’re stroking him together, and he loves how their hands look joined like that on the mirror, how he can see Soonyoung fuck into his fist.

“Don’t come yet,” Jihoon tells him, their eyes meeting in the mirror and Soonyoung only growls.

“Why the hell not?”

“I’ll punish you if you do.”

“I’m so _close_ ,” Soonyoung whines. He strokes himself faster, hips snapping down. Jihoon fucks him harder, the slap of their skin more audible, echoing across the room, even, and he likes watching Soonyoung get thrust forward, how he can’t do anything with his mouth but keep it slack and open.

“Your mouth would look amazing on my dick,” Jihoon tells him and it’s this that gets Soonyoung coming with a loud cry onto the floor. Jihoon catches some of his come on his hand so he lifts it up to his mouth, licks away at it. “I’m not done with you.”

Soonyoung groans, supporting himself on both arms now, entire body trembling. He goes tighter around Jihoon’s dick, the heat making him dizzy. He fucks Soonyoung down to the floor until he’s coming inside him, until he rides out the last of his orgasm. He lays on top of Soonyoung for a while and basks in his orgasm, pressing lazy kisses to the side of Soonyoung’s head and brushing Soonyoung’s hair away from his face.

“How did we look?” Jihoon asks.

“Better than a porn movie,” Soonyoung answers with a shaky laugh.

Jihoon laughs too and pulls himself off of Soonyoung. “Lie down,” he orders him.

“What?”

“I told you I’m not done with you.”

“Fuck,” Soonyoung says weakly, but he lies down on the floor anyway. Jihoon gives him a sloppy kiss, smiling when he pulls away and Soonyoung makes his head follow, then lets his mouth roam Soonyoung’s torso, latches on to a nipple and doesn’t let go of it till it’s bright red and taut and Soonyoung is half-hard again. “ _Fuck_.” He gets fully hard when Jihoon takes the head of Soonyoung’s cock into his mouth, tongue lapping up at the sensitive slit, and he grabs Jihoon’s hair, tries to make him go deeper. “I’m gonna come again,” he hisses.

“So soon?” Jihoon says, slightly put out. His lips are swollen when he looks at himself in the mirror and when he ducks his head down to take Soonyoung in his mouth again, he watches how his lips spread wide open. He goes a little more slowly, plays with Soonyoung’s balls in his hand, the other stroking him at the base. There’s precome that follows, salty and bitter and tasting entirely of Soonyoung on his tongue that he just laps up and Soonyoung lets out another shaky moan at that, his body feeling like it won’t stop trembling. He pulls Jihoon’s hair, enough to get his cock to slip out of Jihoon’s mouth and he comes shortly after on his stomach then lies back down on the floor with a dull thud.

“Holy fuck,” Soonyoung says, dragging Jihoon up for a kiss. “Fuck, you’re still wearing clothes.”

“Yeah, I’m wearing your jacket,” Jihoon tells him, and he’ll have to launder it now after a week of being absolutely careful with it.

“It’s so hot.” Soonyoung brushes Jihoon’s hair back and Jihoon can see how bright his eyes are, the tears welling up on the corners of his eyes.

“Are you crying?”

“You try coming hard twice in a row; let’s see if you don’t fucking cry.” Jihoon grins and sneaks a hand down to take Soonyoung’s limp cock in his hand then gives it a few strokes, enjoying how it gets fat and heavy in his hand, and Soonyoung looks at him like he’s almost going to cry. “No.”

“Yes.” He strokes Soonyoung to hardness then goes down again to lap up at the slit. Soonyoung’s twitching by now, nails digging into Jihoon’s scalp and he’s babbling. The muscles in his stomach are twitching, his thighs quivering, and when he gets to orgasm, barely anything dribbles out of the slit on his cock, but Soonyoung’s crying, the tears well and truly rolling down his face. “Holy shit,” Jihoon murmurs, settling himself on top of Soonyoung like that night. He wipes a tear away with his thumb then sucks on it, letting the salt coat his tongue. “Are you okay?”

Soonyoung lets out a weak laugh. “I’m fine, thanks for asking.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I'm honestly quite proud of this fic. I've had a lot of practise before then with my other fics to write this and I've also gone beyond myself so yeah haha this was a bitch to write but the payoff was nothing short of amazing.
> 
> This is it for this story! This is also the last installment in my uni AU series, so I'm glad that's out of the way. I can work on the other fics I have lined up and outlined and dying to be written, so please anticipate? Haha.
> 
> BUT OH MY GOSH I FEEL SO RELIEVED THAT UNI AU IS DONE!!!! I've also been writing for SVT since the start of July so it's been almost three months since and so much has happened like even the way I write has changed drastically??? WOW OKAY I NEED JESUS, A BREAK, AND SOME CHILL SO BYE LMAO


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